


Crash Test Dummies

by tinymacuser1998



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Agender Bucky Barnes, F/M, I might add a chapter when they frick, Kinda, M/M, Other, Punk Steve Rogers, Underage - Freeform, also riley died and sam blamed himself., blaming for another character's death, death mentions, it's not outright stated but yeah, they don't frick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4695650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinymacuser1998/pseuds/tinymacuser1998
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve would stumble in, half-awake and shoulder his backpack while Sarah gave them both a kiss on the forehead before they descended down the stairs again, pile into his truck, and make the twenty minute ride to the school in complete silence. Steve would down whatever coffee was left in Sam’s mug. Then, when he parked in the empty facing the cornfield lot three blocks from the school, and Steve was a little more awake than not, Sam would open the glove box and pull out Steve’s cigarettes for him. Sometimes, he’d even smoke one, too, but usually this time was just spent watching Steve as the sun rose. The butterflies in Sam’s stomach would decide to do some particularly dynamic aerial maneuvers.<br/>He would never feel that again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crash Test Dummies

**Author's Note:**

> Steve is a punk rock cinnamon roll and Sam is just trying his best

He would never feel that knot in his stomach again.

It used to be that Sam would climb into his dad’s old work truck, throw his backpack into the back seat, and drive the ten minutes it took to get from his house to Steve’s apartment complex. And he would usually call Steve on his cell or try to throw rocks at his window until Mrs. Rogers told him to come up to wait or someone from another apartment would open their window and tell him to shut up. Then, Sam would end up with the dregs of a too-sweet coffee in his hand and listen to Steve curse softly while getting ready in the bathroom. Sarah would try to insist on giving Sam some sort of breakfast. Steve would stumble in, half-awake and shoulder his backpack while Sarah gave them both a kiss on the forehead before they descended down the stairs again, pile into his truck, and make the twenty minute ride to the school in complete silence. Steve would down whatever coffee was left in Sam’s mug and the butterflies in Sam’s stomach would decide to do some particularly dynamic aerial maneuvers.

Then, when he parked in the empty facing the cornfield lot three blocks from the school, and Steve was a little more awake than not, Sam would open the glove box and pull out Steve’s cigarettes for him. Sometimes, he’d even smoke one, too, but usually this time was just spent watching Steve as the sun rose. Sam would look at his profile as the sky changed from pale orange to pale blue, enveloped in smoke and usually balancing his sketch pad or a thick paperback novel on his knee. It was then that the knot would solidify in Sam’s stomach, and the feeling would spread to his lower stomach and groin, and paint his face bright red. When his cigarette was finished, Steve would snap his attention to Sam after not acknowledging him for a good half hour. This was their foreplay.

Steve’s mouth would taste like cigarettes, coffee, his inhaler and toothpaste that he used that morning, and the cinnamon-raisin toast he had for breakfast. His hair was soft like a bird’s feathers and his hips felt like sin. They did this every morning, the kissing and making out and sometimes even more some mornings if Steve convinced him. It never got old, though. It never became routine to Sam.

When they were finished, Steve would swing his skinny leg over and sit back down next to Sam, hold his hand, and smoke another cigarette while Sam cleaned himself up. Then they would drive to school, Sam would park, and they would go their separate ways until the end of the day, after Sam had football practice, where he would drive Steve home if Bucky or Nat hadn’t already.

* * *

 

When Sarah started getting worse, Steve didn’t kiss him as often but smoked twice as much as he normally did. He would talk to Sam less. He would read and even draw less, and eventually, a few months before she actually passed, Steve wouldn’t look him in the eyes when he said that he was going to be taking the bus from now on.

Sam saw him at the funeral, which he was invited to, of course. Steve’s shoulders were rounded and he was hunched over, and Natasha and Bucky stood next to him in the front. He couldn’t imagine Steve’s face. He couldn’t imagine what he looked like, whether it was completely desolate or rather scrunched up and tear-stained. Either way, he sobbed and shook like a leaf. When the priest quit speaking, and people walked up to tell stories about how great Sarah was (which there was a fair number of, and Sam thought that would’ve made her happy), Steve didn’t go up.

Sam didn’t stay after the procession. He told his mother and father that he was feeling sick and was going to go home, then drove to that empty lot facing the cornfield, and threw up twice. He stayed until 4:30 pm, then drove home and changed into his football gear and went to practice. Bucky wasn’t there, and Sam was glad.

* * *

 

Two months later, Sam found out that Steve had been adopted by Natasha’s foster dad, Nick Fury.

He found this out when he was at the hospital, because Bucky had been hit by a drunk driver when driving home on Saturday night, and as a result, lost his arm and fell into a coma. The entire football team came to visit him even though barely a fourth of the team actually liked him at all. Natasha was in the waiting room, looking completely distraught, while Nick Fury was taking a call in the hallway. Steve sat with her, rubbing her hand with his thumb in circles. While everyone was looking at Bucky through the window into his room like he was a fish in a bowl, Sam found himself walking towards them unconsciously, like he was sleepwalking.

He did not recognize Steve fully until they were three feet apart from each other. Steve had filled out. He was a good half foot taller than he had been when Sam had last saw him, and weighed about thirty pounds more. All of it was muscle. He was about Sam’s height now. He still had the same golden hair, though, and the same sad, blue, eyes that reminded Sam of clear oceans or chlorinated swimming pools in the summer.

“Sam,” Steve said. Sam didn’t reply. His mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. He tried to look at Natasha to ratify this.

Her hair was greasy and fell into her eyes, that were lined with bags the color of bruises. She was pale and she was sweating. This was the weakest he had ever seen her.

He looked back to Steve helplessly. Steve wasn’t meeting his eyes, “None of us are dealing with this well.”

“I know,” Sam said.

“We could’ve used your help during this, Sam,” Natasha said hoarsely. She was wrapped in one of Bucky’s heavy knit fishermen’s sweatshirts even though it was barely September. Sam didn’t know he could’ve not noticed this up until now.

“I know,” he said.

For a long stretch of time, no one said anything. Natasha kept eye contact, though. Searching through Sam’s face, trying to find something. For what, Sam didn’t know.

“I’m in PT now,” Steve said, breaking the silence.

Sam ripped his gaze from Natasha.

“What?” He asked.

“I’m in PT,” Steve repeated.

Sam blinked slowly, processing what Steve was saying. “Oh. Can you do that even though you have your health problems?”

Steve shrugged. “Nick can afford better medicine.”

Sam nodded, “Well, you look good, man.”

Natasha scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest, looking away from both of them. Sam looked down at his hands and Steve scratched the back of his head.

Pierce called for Sam, which prompted him to say goodbye to Sam and Natasha.

“Maybe we can meet up sometime?” Steve asked.

Sam looked at him, and saw a sad smile and a broken heart, and said, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

They didn’t end up talking with each other for the rest of the year.

* * *

 

A fourth of the way through senior year, Steve drove up to Sam’s house at three in the morning. Sam was pretty sure that, had he not opened the front door, Steve would’ve broken in or something. He grabbed Sam’s shoulders when he opened the door and clung on to him. He was shaking.

It took a lot of bribing to convince his sisters not to wake up their mom and dad, but Sam eventually got everything into enough order to where he could go with Steve. He put on his hard-soled slippers and then walked out to his slick, new car. At this point, Steve still hadn’t explained what was going on yet.

“Bucky just came out to their parents,” Steve said as they climbed in, “and they kicked them out. They and Natasha are planning on eloping.”

Sam knew that Bucky had woken up from their coma and had woken up... different. Not very different, just less of what people were used to seeing. They were less bubbly, for example, and were, apparently, taking a whole lot less of the shit they dealt with in the past.

Sam knew Bucky was agender. Whenever Nat, Steve, Sam, and Bucky hung out their sophomore year and drank, it was all Bucky talked about when they were thoroughly smashed. It didn’t really matter to Natasha, who was in love with Bucky no matter what their gender was, but whenever it was brought up while Bucky was sober, they would beat themselves over it. Sam marked it up to shame, which he could understand.

“That’s intense. How’s Nick taking it?” Sam asked.

Steve laughed, “Pretty well, actually. He doesn’t give a shit as long as it’ll make Nat happy.”

“Huh,” Sam said, “that’s good news, though, right?”

Steve smiled over at Sam. “I think so, yeah. Want to come to the wedding?”

Sam blanched, “I don’t know.”

Steve’s smile flattered a little. He started the car.

“Do you want to go to the empty lot by the cornfield tonight?” Steve asked.

Sam’s stomach lept.

“Yes,” he said immediately.

Steve drove.

* * *

 

After they arrived at the lot, Steve and Sam sat in complete silence for about five minutes. Then, he reached over Sam’s lap, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the glove box and exited the car. Sam followed after him.

When Steve’s fingers shook too much to light the cigarette, Sam took the lighter and lit it for him. Steve took a long inhale, then leaned on the hood of his car and looked at the stars.

Sam looked at his profile again, framed by the stars. Suddenly, everything was different than it had been his sophomore year. He was looking up at Steve now, for one. He was taller and had about fifty pounds on Sam now, all of the weight being pure muscle.

For all intents and purposes, Sam was looking at a stranger. He looked at the sky, too.

“Did I do this?” Sam said, not looking at Steve when he did. “Did I push you away?”

“What, no,” Steve replied, “I mean, I don’t know. Probably not. I mean, I don’t know.”

Sam looked to him. “Can it go back to how it was, you think?”

Steve took a drag from his cigarette and sighed as he exhaled.

“I’m not going to be a secret again, Sam,” Steve said, “not for anyone. Not even you.”

That felt like a punch to the gut. It felt worse than anything Sam had experienced before, but he didn’t let it show.

Sam took a cigarette out of the pack when Steve’s ran out and lit it for him.

“I miss you, though,” Steve said matter of factly, like he was stating the obvious.

“I miss you, too,” Sam said.

Steve took another drag. “You’re not a bad person, you know.”

Sam scoffed.

“I’m serious,” Steve said, looking to Sam again, “you blame yourself for a lot of things you didn’t have control over.”

Sam shook his head, plucked the cigarette out of Steve’s hand, then finished it off and stomped it out.

“Let’s go, Army boy. I have an all day practice tomorrow,” Sam said, climbing back into Steve’s car.

They didn’t say anything on the way home, but before he left the car, Steve grabbed his hand.

“Please forgive yourself,” he said, “for Riley, for everything.”

Sam yanked his hand away and slammed Steve’s car door when he closed it.

He skipped school and quit the football team the next day.

* * *

 

Natasha and Bucky’s wedding took place at the courthouse in December the day after she turned eighteen. There wasn’t going to be a ceremony until Bucky insisted, then Sam brought his little sister, and Natasha invited some friend of hers named Clint. It wasn’t a big thing by any means, but both Natasha and Bucky wore dresses and Bucky ended up crying their makeup off halfway through the ceremony.

When they kissed, everyone clapped and Natasha threw the bouquet. Nick caught it, and photos were taken.

It was a good time even though Sam had to tell his sister not to ask why Bucky was wearing a dress a couple of times.

Steve was, of course, the best man, so he was with Bucky and Nat the whole time. Even though there were only about fifteen people there altogether, it was pretty easy to slip away with his sister before he ran into Steve.

By the time they got home and Sarah went to go gush to her parents about how beautiful the wedding was, Sam had about five missed messages from Steve. He called Steve back, because he hadn’t left any messages.

“Hello?” Steve answered.

Sam had went into his room and locked his door, then laid back on his bed.

“Hey, man,” Sam replied, kicking off his shoes.

Steve sighed into the phone. “Bucky and Nat wanted you to stay after the ceremony. We were all going to hang out and get burgers or something.”

“That doesn’t really seem appropriate for after a wedding,” Sam said.

“I wish you had stayed,” Steve said, “and I heard you quit the football team.”

“And I came out to my parents,” Sam added, “which was nice but didn’t go over smoothly.”

“That’s a lot.”

“I know,” Sam said, “but my therapist said I should, so I thought I should.”

“You’re going to therapy now?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, for the Riley thing,” Sam said.

“That’s really good, Sam.”

Sam nodded, then pursed his lips. He didn’t know what it meant or what he was hoping this would build up to, but he knew something big was coming. Right now.

“Can you pick me up so we can go to the empty lot by the cornfield tomorrow?” Steve asked, “I could use a ride to school.”

Sam smiled, “I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to Sedona by Houndmouth, and Haley Kiyoko's Girls like Girls while writing this


End file.
